


falling.

by reese_puff_s



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Fluff, Gen, The boys are cute, aziraphale is baby, might include other ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reese_puff_s/pseuds/reese_puff_s
Summary: soft, cute oneshot book. i’ll tag chapters accordingly but anything explicit is in my other oneshot book, [oh, angel.]! please give me prompts, i’m always happy to fulfill them!
Relationships: Crowley/Aziraphale
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first work kinda nervy

falling. it was, rather so, like falling. or at least, for the angel, he imagined it to be like falling. hot, and terrifying and comforting, and absolutely beautiful. like a snowy winter morning, running out and slipping on ice. the rug being ripped from under you, with strong arms to fall back into.

these were the thoughts of the angel as he stared at the love of his life, sitting just across from him with a glass of wine in hand. glasses off, letting him see those honey colored eyes. god, he really was fucking goreeous.

aziraphale wondered in earnest how crowley thought of him, whether he felt the same. the doubts, as always, rushed away like water in an upturned bottle as soon as crowley looked at him. and oh, he was blushing, as always, and looking back at his lap with just a hint of a smile.

“come here, angel.” voice smooth as always, soft and welcoming and ever so slightly raspy in just the way he liked it. it made the angel’s head spin- a perfect creation of heaven, cast out like a too-small blouse. but that was alright, because now they were sitting in the bookshop, and suddenly things felt so much closer. so much warmer. falling.


	2. sick and tired.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aziraphale is sick and crowley is Not Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on a roll

aziraphale glared at crowley from the blankets he was hiding under, pouting still. “no! i’m sick, you can’t hold me.”

“please? it’s cold, angel.” crowley was legitimately shivering, glasses off and eyes almost...shy. like a child asking their mother for ice cream money. he wouldn’t get sick, he was a demon for satan’s sake. and if he did, well it’d be worth it to wrap his arms around aziraphale. 

aziraphale sighed, shifting around a bit and using his wing to push the blankets up to make a space. “come here, you snake.” foul fiend was more common, but crowley wasn’t complaining. 

crowley smiled instantly, rushing over and cuddling up to the angel. he wrapped both arm and wing around him, holding aziraphale like he was fragile and precious. he was, at least, to crowley. his treasure, like a dragon’s hoard.

aziraphale cuddled up against him, brushing his fingers over the raven coloured feathers and playing with a few that had flown down. there were always stray feathers in their bedroom. the angel hummed in satisfaction, eyes falling shut. “goodnight, crowley.”

“goodnight, angel.”


	3. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this is a one-shot book now? cool

crowley woke to the sound of sniffling, and whimpers. stifled, but still there. immediately, he reached over to the other side of his bed, but found it empty, still warmed. the bathroom was open, and he could barely, blearily, make out the silhouette of one plush angel that he’d come to know and love. 

aziraphale’s hands clenched and unclenched repetitively at his sides, fighting back shivers. his eyes were red rimmed, nose rubbed raw. he felt like a child, felt too seen by those he didn’t know or even realize. “angel?” the voice came welcomed, like a light in the dark of a forest. “c-crowley?”

crowley’s heart about shattered as he scrambled out of bed, coming up behind the angel and turning him so the halo of blond curls laid against his chest. “do you want to tell me what the matter is?” he could feel the tremors running through him, and the way zira pressed to him suggested he was freezing. suddenly, they were in bed, a heated blanket draped over them at just the snap of two long, piano-handed fingers. aziraphale’s face was like a hot poker against his neck, breath shallow and inconsistent. 

could angels get sick? probably.

aziraphale felt like he was swimming in an icy pond, absolutely frozen and incredibly sluggish. he clung to crowley, feverish with slow tears running down his face. the tracks they left burned his cheeks like hellfire. crowley’s hand, running through his soft, silken curls, on the other hand, felt like a breath of fresh air. if he could’ve, he would nuzzle up into the touch.

the tone crowley spoke in was concerned, fretful if you listened close. “oh, angel, you’ve got a frightful temperature. can angels get sick- well of course they can, you’re corporeal, aren’t you?” he chattered on above his angel’s head, all the while touching some bit of him. rubbing his back, lips pressed against the top of his blond halo, gentle arms holding him close and safe. “is it too bright in here? you know i coul-“

“shut up.” aziraphale muttered, barely a whisper. his eyes were still shut, and he sounded so incredibly tired. “just sit.” he settled back down after that, holding a fistful of crowley’s shirt like he needed a reassurance, that he was still real. “tired.”

crowley felt as if his heart had shattered once more, holding the angel close once more. “go back to sleep, angel. i’ll tale care of you.”

“promise?”  
“promise.”


	4. they’re gay, flavio.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rather nasty old woman comes into the shop. aziraphale, and by extension crowley, set her straight, just not the way you’d expect.

aziraphale was caught in a pleasant chat with a customer, as he reshelved books. a small smile rested on his lips, as he listened to the woman who seemed quite kind. that is until, some particular words left her lips, falling like tar against his ears. 

“well, you know, i said we don’t like homosexuals around here-“ 

the reaction was instant, smile dropping into the signature ‘i’m-holding-back-on-punching-you’ purse. bastardous old woman. he didn’t speak, but slid his eyes over to the demon seated on the sofa, locking eyes with him. ‘come here.’ he mouthed, smirking mischievously. oh, this would be fun.

crowley got up with his usual grace, slinking over to aziraphale. god, he always did that, knowing what it did to his angel. “what is it?” he whispered, pushing up his sunglasses. he was used to aziraphale being just a little bit of a bastard, quite enjoyed it actually.

“we’re going to make that woman awfully uncomfortable.” aziraphale watched the smile creep over crowley’s face, then let out a half scream as crowley grabbed him and- picked him up. “good morning, angel.” he laughed, kissing aziraphale’s cheek. 

aziraphale watched shock flow like lava across the woman’s face, stifling a laugh. “i-i-“ he cut her off. “did i fail to mention? this is my husband, crowley.” crowley looked at the woman with a grin, settling aziraphale back on the ground but keeping him held tight. “hiya. a.j.crowley, partner to this angel.” 

aziraphale kissed his jaw lightly, giggling. “shh, darling.” their hands intertwined, left and left to show the matching wedding bands. crowley smiled down at him, resting his chin on top of the angel’s head and cocooning him in his arms. “go ahead with your conversation, angel.”

aziraphale turned his attention back to the woman, aware that she was staring. he ignored it, tapping his pen against the desk to get her attention. “what were you saying, dear?” fixing her with a look that detailed the fact that she wasn’t to pull out of the conversation, he smiled and leaned on crowley’s chest to listen. 

the woman stumbled through her sentences, seeing such a previously respectful man canoodling with another throwing her off balance. crowley would press kisses against Aziraphale’s curls, or giggle against his cottony hair with a loving gentleness. sometimes, the blonde would press his cheek against the redhead’s, smiling. they were affectionate, even....adorable. 

finally, after what had to be the single most awkward conversation the odd pair had ever engaged in, aziraphale just about collapsed against crowley’s chest with laughter. “the look on her face-“ he damn near cackled, face flushed pink with mirth. crowley thought him truly adorable, stifled giggling still bouncing in his chest. 

“crowley?”  
“yes, angel?”  
“i love you.”  
“mm. love you.”

and so it was, in the bookshop, and places near and far from there, that that strange but lovely couple may have danced through the scenario once or twice. perhaps a billion times.

————————————————————————-


	5. angel kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crowley has freckles? no, not really.
> 
> fem!zira in this, as well. self indulgence.

Aziraphale was just reading, holding a fresh, hot cup of tea in one hand and a book, well loved and familiar, in the other. But Go- Sa- someone, damnit, she was ethereal. At least to Crowley’s eyes, as he sat across from her in the bookshop.

Her white-gold hair flowed over her shoulders, cottony and soft and ever so warm. Her hands, curled like a cat’s paw around the cup of tea, were so soft snd warm as Crowley knew so well from where they’d touched him, left sparking warm trails in their wake, left him feeling blessed. She was Aziraphale, Guardian Of The East Wall, and Crowley felt like a mere worshipper, like he meant to be low near her feet. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked in a sort of peculiar tone, setting down her book. A look had passed over her face, faster than Crowley could see but slow enough for him to feel. “Angel?” He asked much the same, slipping his glasses off. They weren’t usually on in the bookshop, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. He knew she didn’t like he knew the feel of her hand in his own. 

She suddenly broke into giggles, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. ‘Fuck-‘ Crowley thought, subconsciously scanning for anything that could be off. “Crowley, you’ve got freckles and I’ve never noticed but they’re so pretty.” Aziraphale rambled, a hint of s giggle still on her lips. “What- What do you mean? I don’t have freckles, angel. Never have.” 

Here came the confusion. The angel across from him was silent, calculating. Brushing back over all the memories six millenia had given her. Aziraphale was looking at Crowley clear as day, at the smattering of freckles that passed over his cheeks, down his neck, to his hands as well. But Crowley, for the Almighty or whoever, couldn’t remember having not a one. His skin had been clear, right? Well, he supposed it had been a bit since he’d looked into a mirror-

Aziraphale, always the sharpest when it counted, looked him in the eye with a suddenness that set Crowley on edge. She began softly, still looking at him. Within him, it seemed. “Crowley. Do you know what the humans call freckles, dear boy?”

“I- No, angel.” Crowley’s confusion only heightened, concern painting his features. Including the freckles that had apparently appeared so suddenly.

“Angel kisses, Crowley.” A stray giggle passed her lips, only inviting more until she was fully laughing, setting her tea down. “Those are- Those are there because I kiss you too much. Look,” She took his hand into her own, pressing her lips against the back of it in an unmarred spot. After about ten seconds, a small, tanned mark seemed to just pop into existance, sparkling with holy energy. It didn’t hurt, though, sending a shiver through every one of Crowley’s overly long limbs. 

“Angel kisses, huh?” Crowley let out a dry laugh, rubbing his finger over the new freckle. 

“Angel kisses.” And with that, yet another angel kiss was pressed against his lips, another still against his cheek. And another, and another, and another, until tea and reading and staring, on both parts, was too long forgotten.


	6. golden-black ichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crowley gets a bit too ballsy with his temptations and falls into dire straits. aziraphale, as usual, saves his demon.

crowley, as of twenty minutes ago, was fine. had been fine. would’ve been fine. 

the knife now buried in his side had changed that considerably, though. he choked on blood, shining like ichor in its midnight black hue as he coughed it over his black shirt. “fuck, sssssshit, oh bless it-“ he cursed over and over again, tears meandering their way over his face. the pain was different than that he’d felt before- make no mistake, crowley had been stabbed before. this, though- it held a power he hadn’t felt for a long time. it hurt, and crowley wasn’t used to hurting. not by much, anyways. not in life ending ways.

what had happened was that crowley, fiendish, devilish soul he was, walked up to a guy in a bar (bad choice) and offered him a bet (even worse choice). the thing was, crowley knew he’d win. it was ineffable, he believed he would so he would. and as such he won, and flaunted what he guessed had been a bit too much money for a bit too long a time because that same man had driven a knife into his skin. before crowley had even registered it, the knife was past the ribs, into the kind of flesh that couldn’t be healed by onself.

it made him groan, made him dizzy and nauseous with pain. he needed- he needed aziraphale. needed the angel’s soft hands gently healing him, rubbing over his skin and erasing all of the black, sooty blood that had fallen onto his clothes. he needed to be okay, as there was no guarantee that he’d get a new corporation any time soon and by god, he needed aziraphale. 

———————————————————

aziraphale, as he was making tea, felt a sudden, nauseating shift in the very fibres of his being. it struck him down to the bone and he almost gagged, stepping backwards until his back hit the counter. after a few long minutes to allow his stomach to settle and his thoughts ample time to rage, aziraphale abandoned the kitchen. there was only one person who’s very essence could’ve tied into his own like that. 

crowley. 

aziraphale knew all of his haunts, like the back of his hand. he knew crowley like the back of his hand. he didn’t even bother with his coat, just rushed out of the bookshop and tried to ignore the rising dread that threatened to engulf his soul entirely. he would be okay, he had to be okay, he would be- “crowley, damnit, where are you?” he muttered, taking authoritative strides thst had people sliding out of his way. no one dared get in his way, he looked stern and certain. he knew where he was going. the bar. 

———————————————————

crowley whimpered in pain, too weak now to do much else. the pain seared into his side like holy water, the antithesis of the gentle caress of hellfire. nothing like the hellfire touch of his angel, leaving comforting sparks behind like a memory of the love every touch held for him. he wanted it, wanted the feel of aziraphale’s hands on him to be the last thing he felt, the last thing he said to be a whispered promise of eternal love to his angel. 

that point, teetering between breaking and living, was when the light of the moon was blocked from his view by a very unkempt angel, whos white-blond hair bounced as he dropped- hard and fast, uncaring of his own feeling- next to crowley. “what the fuck have you done?” he demanded, and crowley noticed tears shimmering with golden, sunny ichor dripping onto his shirt, mixing with the pitch black blood already smeared on his angel’s clothes. he had half a mind to feel sorry.

“oh, crowley..” aziraphale whispered in a half sob, in a voice that detailed the love aziraphale held in for him just in case- no. he wouldn’t think of that. a soft, gentle hand weathered by years snd years of things unrememberable came to rest over the handle of the knife, gauging the area it was in. “ kidney. you only need one.” aziraphale laughed a sniffly, sad laugh, holding a hand beneath crowley’s head to keep him from smashing it on the ground. ever caring.

he’d have to heal him with a miracle. an angel mirace. “i’m so sorry, my dear boy.” he whispered before setting a very firm, albeit shaky, hand on the knife and starting to whisper under his breath. his fingertips seemed to glow the same tone as the golden ichor crowley knew ran through his veins, but the demon struggled not to scream with the pain of it all. he bared his teeth and clenched his fists and took it, took the pain for the opportunity of a few more seconds with his angel. 

by the grace of someone higher than them both, it was over before crowley had quite processed it beginning. black blood puddled on the ground like rainwater, shimmering like a thousand suns. aziraphale could slip the knife out easily and he did as soon as he had the strength gathered. immediately as he could, the angel wrapped crowley into a tight embrace, letting the tears he’d so desperately been holding onto flow against the black of crowley shirt. “don’t you ever scare me again like that, you goddamned bastard!” he said in a quiet whimper, no bite behind it. he was so glad.

crowley was, too.


	7. feathers

flying, for birds as we all know, starts at a young age- flung out of the nest as a test of strength. the thing with angels, and by extension demons, is that they are born with such an ability. to fly is innate. and by go- sa- someone did they take advantage of this.

aziraphale laughed joyously as he dropped low over the field, cotton-white wings to match cotton-white hair crested behind him like sails. another boyish laugh as he heard the sound of crowley coming after him, folding his wings close and dropping with the grace of a being that had been doing so for millenia.

crowley had no such silent grace, landing next to aziraphale not nearly as lightly. “not bad, angel.” he snarked, but as always it sounded so affectionate. only to the angel, only with his angel could he be like this. glasses off, black wings blotting out the stars behind him. the stars he’d so carefully hung so long ago were blocked by the all-consuming blackness that was his wings, but that just made it easier for aziraphale to see his face in the twilight. 

“not bad yourself, serpent.” aziraphale grinned before taking off again, just as elegant and effortless as crowley remembered him as being in the air. it was truly the angel’s realm to be high above, he though as he watched aziraphale, watched him flip onto his back in midair to slow his descent and then at the last second turn back to glide over the flowers, barely touching them with the tips of his wings. it seemed so simple yet so difficult, an art in its own right. like painting. drawing, singing, any of the arts. the finer ones, anyways.

crowley hesitated for a moment, thinking about just staying landbound and watching aziraphale, but the angel’s cry of “crowley! come on, you’re too slow.” made him laugh and take to the skies as well. long, spindly arms wrapped around his angel’s waist, flame-red hair that seemed to crackle like its likeness tickling his cheeks. “ what happened to i go too fast for you, hm?” he chided in a gentle voice, kissing the angel’s cheek in a cheeky way that made him laugh. “you pine after someone for 6 millenia and finally have them say they love you. try to keep quiet after that.” aziraphale snarked right back, leaning back into crowley’s embrace as lazy flows of his wings kept them aloft.

“you love me.” crowley murmured against aziraphale’s shoulder, feeling the breeze of those cotton-white wings on his scalp every time his hair moved. it was soothing, same as the feel of aziraphale’s hair against his neck. “and you know it.” he finished, looking up at aziraphale with his golden eyes blown wide with love. maybe a bit of lust, but that was always there. temptation demon and such. 

“i love you so much more than i’ve loved anything in the history of everything.” aziraphale whispered, reaching back to softly run his fingers through crowley’s hair. the words struck true like arrows in crowley’s heart, pinning him against the angel. aziraphale loved him, aziraphale loved him more than anything and crowley’s heart was full to bursting with things he didn’t think demons were capable- worthy -of feeling. 

he laughed a stupid, joyous laugh and pressed aziraphale close to him, covering his face in kisses while he was held tight. “i love you angel. six thousand kisses for every year i’ve loved you.” crowley cooed, beginning to count audibly starting from one. “this one’s for the garden, and for you shielding me with your wing- i do hope you know that was when i fell in love- and this one...” 

aziraphale just watched him, practically glowing in all the attention and love. the love of the almighty had nothing on this, not when he was being held like something precious and kissed like he’d blow away in a strong wind. that was rather how he felt, like if crowley let him go he’d crumble like a marble pillar. but he knew crowley wasn’t letting go. not for anyone’s sake. no one could take this from him.

how could he have missed out on this for so long?


End file.
